My hands have often been weary hands,
Too tired to do their daily task;
And just to fold them forevermore
Has seemed the boon that was best to ask.
My feet have often been weary feet,
Too tired to walk another day;
And I’ve thought, “To sit and calmly wait
Is better far than the onward way.”
My eyes with tears have been so dim
That I have said, “I can not mark
The work I do or the way I take,
For every where it is dark—so dark!”
But, oh, thank God! There never has come
That hour that makes the bravest quail:
No matter how weary my feet and hands,
God never has suffered my heart to fail.
So the folded hands take up their work,
And the weary feet pursue their way;
And all is clear when the good heart cries,
“Be brave!—to-morrow’s another day.”
